Death in the Family by Carolyn Smith (e reader manga .txt) 📕

better prepared? Well, there was really no point in beating myself up about it for too long. I would just have to ride this weekend out and make sure I have what I need by next weekend.

In the car on the way to Nana’s the next day Mum was asking Karl and me all kinds of questions about Nana. It was weird.
“What do you normally have for dinner when you’re there?” she asked looking at us in the over head mirror above the passenger seat.
“It depends,” Karl replied in his usual sullen tones.
“On what?”
“What she’s got in and what we fancy.”
“Well…what does she normally have in?”
“Eggs, potatoes, beans and stuff.”
“Hmm. So you normally have egg, chips and beans,” Mum said this quite matter of factly. That’s not strictly what Karl had said, but yes, Mum was right, that is normally what we eat at Nana’s which is great because at home Mum always makes us eat loads of vegetables and salad and stuff.
Karl just grunted in response. My mother’s attention then turned to my Dad.
“See! I told you. Grease. That’s all she eats. It’s not healthy Dave. You need to talk to her. It wasn’t like this before George Died.”
Dad sighed in recognition of what Mum had said. I couldn’t see the problem myself. Just because we have sausages, fired eggs, chips and Chinese takeaways at the weekends doesn’t mean Nana is hurting us. Mum makes sure that we eat well all week so what harm can it do us really?
When we arrived at Nana’s she greeted us at the door in her usual manner with sloppy, hairy kisses and then brought us all a bacon sandwich as we sat in the living room. I was delighted. I loved Nana’s bacon sarnies. I think it had a lot to do with the fact that she fried the bacon and as you bit in to the bread, which was soft and sticky because of the melted butter, the grease from the bacon rolled down your fingers and on to the plate, perfect for mopping up with the last remnants of bread later. I would miss these when Nana was gone. Then I realized. This could very well be the last bacon sandwich I ever get to enjoy. Next week Nana will be gone and so will the heavenly grease filled sandwiches.

I looked up from my dripping bread and saw Mum give Dad a pointed look. He cleared his throat and put down his sandwich. I could see the pained look sweep across his eyes as he did so. I knew that Dad loved these sandwiches as much as I did.
“Mum,” he started. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean dear?” she said as she looked at him while taking a huge bite out of her bacon and bread.
“Mum, are you ok?” he asked again. His voice was gentle and calm. The calm before the storm?
“Of course I am. What do you mean? I’m fine.” She sounded a little put out by the question.
“Doreen. Please don’t get upset,” this was my Mum talking now, “but we’ve noticed a few things. You are not eating properly.”
“What on earth are you talking about? Of course I am eating properly. I have three square meals a day and goodness knows what else. I know I have put on a little weight since George died, but really Claire, do you hear me commenting on your waist line?” Nana was getting a little angry. She was clearly offended by the questioning.
“Doreen, please! We’re just concerned about you.”

Now that I looked at her I could see what Mum was talking about actually. Nana hadn’t put on a bit of weight; she had put on a lot of weight. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed before. She must have doubled if not tripled in size in the last five years. Then I realized, the Chinese take aways and chips everyday weren’t just at the weekends with me and Karl. She was doing this every day. Perfect, I thought. As their conversation continued I slipped in to a world of my own thinking…thinking…thinking. Maybe I really did have the mind of an evil genius at just thirteen.
Plan B would work much better now, even better than I originally thought. The impact made be heavier and harder, it had to be! It’s pure physics. In order to ensure that nothing changed and that Nana didn’t suddenly throw herself into a diet and start losing loads of weight I made sure that the fridge continued to be stocked with chocolate. I insisted that we have another bacon sandwich that afternoon and I had a hankering for Chinese food that night and a fry up for breakfast in the morning. Nana was not getting thin…not on my watch.

On Monday I told Mum that I needed to pop in to town on Tuesday after school. Surprisingly she didn’t even question it. So on Tuesday morning I made sure I had enough money to get me to town and back and to buy what I needed. Tuesday was a relatively long day. Every lesson seemed to drag and the taunts at lunch and break seemed especially cruel. I don’t know why I was suddenly letting them get to me, I usually rise above it. Maybe because I knew what was coming this weekend I was feeling more vulnerable than normal. I don’t know, but for some reason Tuesday was a difficult day. However, the school bell did eventually ring to signal home time and I ran off as quickly as I could in the direction of the bus stop going in to town. I wanted to get there before the bullies did. They seemed to be everywhere. How can they be in the school corridors, loitering outside the school, on the school bus and on the bus into town? Were they growing in numbers? Were they following me or was it all my imagination? I could see the bus rounding the corner at the top of the road. It would be here in less than a minute. When sat on the bus I could sit right at the front and I’d be relatively safe because the bullies would all go and sit at the back. I watched the bus as it made its way toward the stop where I was stood. 20 seconds until safety. 10 seconds. Then I felt a hard shove in my back and I tripped over…what? Thin air? Whatever I tripped over, I ended up face down on the ground. Laughter erupted behind me and I looked up to see four or five of them, bullies, climbing on to the bus. I stood up dusting grit and dirt off my hands and trousers and turned to watch the bus disappear down the street. It had gone. I had missed it. Now I would have to wait another 20 minutes for the next one. And so, my bad continued.

By the time I eventually arrived at Mrs. Cuthbert’s shop she was about to close for the day. I had to beg her to stay open just for 5 more minutes. I assured her I knew what I was looking for and would be quick. I wasn’t quick. I couldn’t find it.
“Come along dear,” she insisted. If she would just stop rushing me for a moment I might be able to gather my senses and find it more quickly, but there reels upon reels, rows upon rows, shelves upon shelves filled with all kinds of different varieties and colours. If I’m honest I really didn’t know which one to get.
“Maybe I can help you young man. What exactly are you looking for?” she asked. She was leaning on the counter and looking at me over the top of her spectacles. She was a short and dumpy woman with a stern face. Her long gray hair tied back in a pony tail reaching half way down her back. I don’t know why but I don’t think old women should be allowed to have long hair. It should be compulsory that at a certain age it should get chopped off and put in a tight little perm. Old men shouldn’t be allowed long hair either. It always looks so straggly. I think it is an attempt for the old people to hang on to their youth and pretend that they are not really that old. But they’re not fooling anyone except themselves. If I told Mrs. Cuthbert to cut her hair and get it restyled because she looks ridiculous it would be a kindness, but I didn’t. I had more pressing issues on my mind, and so did she.
“Well?” she pressed.
“I need some thread, but it needs to be strong and not easy to see,” I said to the woman who was still looking down on me from above her glasses which were perched right on the end of her nose.
“Ok. I know exactly what you need.” She left her post at the counter and walked around the shelf I was standing in front of to the back side, where there were even more rows of cotton reels. Each one made from a different type of thread with a different strength and thickness. How could she tell the difference so quickly?
“Here you go my dear,” she said as she handed me a thin reel of clear white thread. On the reel it read ‘invisible, nylon thread. Strong.’
“Thank you,” I said. “This is perfect.”
“What are you making dear? A quilt?” she was back at the counter now tapping buttons in to the till.
“Yes.” I really didn’t know what they type of thread would be used for, so I just followed her lead. I paid the 2.99 and left, feeling a little bit ripped off. 2.99 for a roll as thin as this? You’d need a hundred of them to be able to make a quilt. Then I remembered that I only needed one, so it’s ok really. As I stood outside the shop gathering my bearings I heard the clicks of the heavy bolts on the inside. She obviously didn’t want me to come back in having forgotten something or needing something else. She was quite safe. I had what I needed now. I was prepared for Plan B.

*** *** *** *** ***

As with Tuesday, the rest of the week seemed extremely long and taxing but Saturday morning came eventually as we all knew it must. Mum didn’t come with us to Nana’s this week. Maybe she was still getting over their argument from last week, or maybe she was just tired from working so late last night. We didn’t see her at all that morning. The car ride was quiet with all of us ‘men’ being lost in our own thoughts. When Dad dropped us off on the doorstep and Nana invited him in for a cup of tea he declined, got straight back in the car and left. Now that was strange. I didn’t spend too long deliberating over it though. I was determined to ensure that Nana had something nice and fattening inside her straight away (in case she had been watching what she ate during the week) and so I made her a cup of tea and dug some Mr. Kipling. Cakes out of the cupboard and brought them to her in the living room. She was used to me helping out in the house now so